An Office Affair
by irridescentsong
Summary: It started as a dare - a dare in his head, to break down some of the walls of his own modesty. - Crossdressing, uniform!kink, desk!sex, part of Intertwined Lives, Inseparable Hearts.


It started as a dare – a dare in his head, to break down some of the walls of his modesty.

He didn't think he'd be strong enough to brazenly walk into the Met in the middle of the day, female police uniform (stockings and heels included), and a short wig on his head, to hide the fact that he was so distinctly male. He'd had to seriously work up the courage to do it. If there was one thing Mycroft Holmes was, it was not shy.

However, when it came to crossdressing and fooling four entire floors of uniformed police men and women that he belonged, he was extremely nervous. So, he held his head high, face lightly powdered with makeup, hat just a little jaunty on his head, and rode the lift to the fourth floor, where Greg's office was.

His eyes immediately drew to the closed door, with the lights on behind the blinds, and he knew Greg was there. Unfortunately, he'd have to cross the entire floor to reach his office. He took special care to avoid the desks of those he knew (and those who knew him), and knocked demurely on Greg's office door.

"Come in!" was shouted through the door, and so he opened the door and stepped in, closing the door softly behind him.

"Sir," he called, raising his voice just a bit to make it slightly unrecognizable.

Greg was facing away from the door, looking out the window with a file in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. "Yes, what is it?" Greg asked, and he lowered his face to stare at the floor, a blush coloring his face and down to his neck.

That voice did things to him, and he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to answer.

He stayed quiet, until Greg turned around and stared at him. "What is it?"

Mycroft fidgeted, and raised his head slightly.

The file slipped from Greg's hand, pages scattering everywhere, and he nearly lost his coffee, before he recovered. "Holy bleeding fuck, Mycroft. What are you doing?" He was torn between running over there and kissing Mycroft senseless, and turning him around, and making him go home.

Mycroft looked slightly shaken by Greg's response, but raised his head the rest of the way, eyes boring straight into Greg's eyes, which had widened slightly.

Greg crossed the room in three strides, and crushed Mycroft to him, face connecting with bruising force. "You look so damn uncomfortable in that," he said in-between kisses.

"Yes," Mycroft answered, "but it was worth it to see your face." He paused for a second, allowing further kissing, but then pushed his mouth next to Greg's ear and rasped lowly "Now, are you going to fuck me across that desk of yours, or what?"

Greg crowded him up against the door, and locked on to his mouth, battling it out over their joined mouths, neither breaking for breathing until it was absolutely necessary. A heady scent rose from Mycroft's skin, and Greg pushed his nose against Mycroft's neck, and inhaled deeply. That scent, that wonderful smell that was all Mycroft and skin and warmth, was one of the many reasons he loved this man.

"Baby, you are _so_ my division," he panted into Mycroft's ear, running a hand up his side, other hand groping Mycroft's arse.

Mycroft moaned against Greg's neck, fingers deftly undoing his tie (the tie he'd tied this morning around his lover's neck, knowing he was coming here to do this today), and flung it back, moving to undo the buttons separating him from touching bare skin.

Greg stilled his fingers, and whispered against his ear "Must leave the shirt on. Don't want to be walked in on." Greg had no plans on locking the door, Mycroft realized. The thought of getting caught was embarrassing and arousing all at the same time.

Eventually, arousing won out, and Mycroft began pushing him backwards to his desk, fingers grasping for the bare skin in-between the gaps in his buttons. They were both achingly hard at this point, the obvious tent in Greg's trousers normal looking.

But the tent in the skirt Mycroft wore, was just odd, but arousing.

_Very_ arousing.

Greg reached under Mycroft's skirt, to reach between the fabric of the skirt and the stockings to grope lightly.

To Greg's surprise, Mycroft had gone so far as to wear panties under the stockings.

Well, that was a pleasant surprise.

All coherent thought immediately vacated his brain as he slipped his fingers underneath the top of the stockings and panties to reach in and brush his fingers against Mycroft's straining cock. Greg leaned in close to whisper into Mycroft's ear, low and gravelly, "Damn, My, you're like a fucking crime scene on legs, you look so damn mussed and delectable. I just want to fuck you so bad."

"So, ah, do it then," Mycroft retorted, voice straining a bit as Greg's hand gave a particularly rough tug on his prick. Greg yanked him up with one hand and shoved him down on the desk, raising the back of the skirt up, and wrenching the stockings and panties down, one hand still grasped around Mycroft's dick. His free hand undid his trousers, slipping himself out of his y-fronts and his trousers, to rub against Mycroft's bare arse.

"Did you bring any lube, because I don't have any here," Greg roughed out, voice gone low with arousal.

"Front, aaah, pocket, on the riiiiiiiight," Mycroft whined out, enjoying the ministrations of Greg's hand against his arousal.

Greg slipped his hand into the pocket to retrieve the small bottle, and uncapped it with his teeth, dribbling out some of the oil from the bottle over his hand with his mouth. He spat the bottle down, and it hit the corner of the desk, and landed on the floor, rolling neatly under the desk. He lined his hand up with the cleft of Mycroft's arse, and slowly slid one finger in, the neatly out, and back in with a second finger. Both of them hardly needed the preparation now, but it was just customary. He slipped a third in to join the other two and rotated them to spread the oil evenly, and then drew the fingers out and over his own arousal.

He slowly slipped inside Mycroft's waiting body, and let out a low keening noise, until he was completely seated inside him. Mycroft gasped as Greg bottomed out, and was lined up against him neatly, his hand still sliding lightly over his prick, making his knees quiver with just enough attention to keep him hard and wanting, but not satisfying enough to come.

Greg pulled out almost all the way from Mycroft's body, and slowly pushed himself back in, wrenched a slow moan from his lover.

They worked on a steady rhythm, Greg would pull almost all the way out, and then snap his hips quickly forward, until the front of his trousers met the soft, bare skin of Mycroft's arse, and then pull back out again, almost all the way, and repeat the motions.

He wiped the oil coated hand on the back of Mycroft's white under-jacket shirt, hiding the stain from sight, and reached up to grab hold of his shoulder, forcing him down on the desk, and further back on his cock.

Mycroft's moans were low, and slow, but they quickly escalated to louder as Greg's thrusts sped up, and he finally had to bite down on his fist to stifle the noises coming from his mouth. Greg's hand was forcing him down against the wood, and his face was against the many papers that littered his desk, and he could vaguely make out some of the words under him, before a long pull on his arousal made his thoughts vanish. He moaned around his fist, and bucked his hips into Greg's hand, encouraging further motions. Greg obliged, and started to pump him faster, keeping the same rhythm of thrusting into his arse.

"Guh-Greg," he moaned out, stifled by his fist, "gonna-need to-god-make me- god-pleeeeeease-" His moaning was cut off by a high whine falling out of his mouth as Greg gave him a good hard pump and he was coming on his hand, body emptying all its pent up arousal.

Greg sighed as Mycroft's body clenched around him, and sped up his thrusts, needing the extra friction to help push him over the edge.

Mycroft moved his hand from his fist, and helped give Greg the extra push over the edge he needed. "Please, sir, please come in my arse."

Greg's body seized up and he gave out a great shuddery moan as he slammed his hips forward, pushing Mycroft's abused body harder against the desk. He continued like that for nearly a minute until his body finally gave him release, and he was seated deep in Mycroft's arse, seed spilling into him.

He finally, after a minute or so of intense catching his breath, extricated himself from Mycroft's body, used a tissue from his drawer to wipe his hand, and zipped himself back up. He returned Mycroft's panties and stockings neatly around his hips, and righted his skirt, offering him a hand to help him up.

"Thank you sir, for meeting with me," Mycroft said softly, confidence restored. He straightened his jacket and hat, kissed Greg lightly on the cheek, and opened the door, striding from it, and returning to the lift.

Greg could only stand there, mouth open, and watch him walk away, wondering what the hell Hurricane Mycroft would do next.

He retrieved his tie, knotted it swiftly, and returned to work, smile across his face stubbornly that refused to leave.


End file.
